


In Synchronization

by volatilehearted (anomalagous)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Shameless Smut, a/b/o dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalagous/pseuds/volatilehearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles supposed he should be grateful, this time around.</p><p>This time, at least, that deep-body itch that started in the space between his hipbones didn’t line up with finals week. This time he knew what was happening. This time, there was enough space in the timing for him to believe there might be a chance for him to pull his grades out of the tailspin this week was undoubtedly going to send them into.</p><p>After all, at this point, he was all too aware of what this next week was going to be like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Synchronization

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuickLikeLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/gifts).



> Scott is an Alpha Werewolf and an Omega Human, and thus has the physical attributes of both an Alpha and an Omega. Stiles is an Omega who is mildly uncomfortable with his gender dynamic. They fuck like rabbits during heat week because they want to.

Stiles supposed he should be grateful, this time around.

 

 _This time_ , at least, that deep-body _itch_ that started in the space between his hipbones didn’t line up with finals week. This time he knew what was happening. This time, there was enough space in the timing for him to believe there might be a chance for him to pull his grades out of the tailspin this week was undoubtedly going to send them into.

 

After all, at this point, he was all too aware of what this next week was going to be like.

 

He’d spent all of his morning sending emails informing professors of the situation, and then too much time at Walmart stocking up what they’d need to survive. Even that had felt like it was cutting things too close. By the time he got to the checkout, Stiles could already feel the sweat starting to break out along the back of his neck, starting down his spine. Someone behind him in the line made the same sort of sound that people made when walking into a restaurant baking their favorite food, and Stiles found himself glaring murder at them as he loaded the fourth case of Heatorade onto the belt.

 

It was January, and New York was _cold_. Still, even the short drive from the store back to the apartment resulted in the Jeep feeling _stifling_ , like a hotbox. Stiles grimaced as he slid out of the soupy air in the Jeep and got the groceries into the little cart he’d bought to take things up the several floors up to their apartment. He would have to come back later, after the week had passed, and scrub the scent out of his seat. Maybe he’d be lucky and the Febreeze would cover it up.

 

It didn’t matter. What mattered was getting upstairs, dragging the pile of non-perishables and 30-minute pasta meals far enough into the apartment that he could get the door closed. What mattered was getting into a place where it was acceptable for him to start stripping off the many, many layers of clothing that a New York winter demanded.

 

He had an hour and a half before Stiles could reasonably expect Scott to be home.

 

An hour and a half felt like _forever_.

 

Some people, Stiles was told, had gentle heats. They came on gradually, they simmered just below a boil. They were _manageable_. Some people, Stiles was told, could even go outside during their heat. It didn’t shut down their ability to operate  in the outside world. Stiles was pretty sure he was being told lies.

 

His heat didn’t creep up on him. It wasn’t gentle. Nothing about Stiles really was. His heat struck more like a hammer being dropped onto an anvil; suddenly, viciously, and without remorse or hesitation. There was no edging into it. There was just the way that his heavy winter coat peeled away to reveal a flannel already practically glued to his chest with the sweat. It wasn’t even a normal kind of sweat, not the way he’d sweat in high school after lacrosse games or now, after those misguided times Scott would persuade him to go run the track with him. Like everything else in the midst of heat, it was thicker, richer. Stiles couldn’t particularly smell the pheromones, but he knew they were now soaked into the cloth of his shirts and pants. The concept of putting groceries away washed away from his mind, and instead, Stiles started towards the bedroom. His coat was left in the foyer, his flannel outershirt draped over the back of the couch. The shirt made it as far as the edge of the living room, his pants all the way to the hallway outside of the bedroom, the last in an unnecessary series of breadcrumbs he left to lead an Alpha to him--

 

\--no, to lead _Scott_ to him.

 

Thoughts were important. Thoughts were slipping away.

 

Stiles pushed the door to the bedroom almost closed, not quite willing to latch it shut and entrap himself in his own stew without Scott to help him. Collapsing backwards onto the bed, he reached down to peel his briefs off, groaning quietly to himself. They were nearly _ruined_ , wet with the slick that was now pouring freely from his cunt. That wasn’t the first time, or even the _fifteenth_ time - he’d been ruining underwear with his body’s enthusiasm before he’d ever even presented.

 

One hour and fifteen minutes. He was never going to make it.

 

Not when temptation led him to drag the tips of his fingers along the swollen edge of his own rim. The feeling was electric, made so easy by the sheer amount of lubricant that he’d already produced. It was only moments before it had covered his fingers and palm, too, the scent of it rolling out into the air so eagerly that Stiles could smell it, even with his human nose. He circled one fingertip before drawing back up, away from his hole and along the seam of his balls. He trailed his touch up to where he could feel his cock starting to stiffen, using his own slick to smooth the passage.

 

He hardened quickly. He always did. It wasn’t long before Stiles could pass his palm down along the midline of his dick and feel the throb start just behind the head to cascade in waves all the way down to the base and deeper, straight through to his needy cunt. It felt good, in a lazy, slowly growing pleasure sort of way. It probably would have been wonderful any other time of the year.

 

But not now. _Now_ , the need was building up behind his eyes, between his hipbones, at the base of his spine, at a speed that this easy-going sort of dalliance couldn’t counteract. He needed, he _needed_ , and the longer the heat crushed down on him, the more Stiles knew that no amount of touching himself was actually going to bring him the least bit of satisfaction. He could get two fingers in himself straight down to the knuckle--and oh, _could_ he, it was so easy to get them in there, rubbing futile at the space just below his prostate--but without his Scott, there’d be no relief.

 

That was maybe the most frustrating thing about heat, for Stiles. He was a _master_ bator, he was very good - downright _efficient_ at bringing himself to climax, and then this stupid heat rolled in and made self-sufficiency impossible. It dragged him under bit by bit and robbed him of logical processes until all he could do was writhe helplessly on the bed and whimper, desperate.

 

An _hour_. An _hour_ until Scott--

 

\--walked in the door and let it swing shut behind him, his voice guttering in a low groan as he was confronted by the scent that must have been overwhelming to a werewolf’s nose. Just the sound of Scott’s voice caused another wave to wash over Stiles’ body, crown to sole, another gush of his slick pooling out of his body. Giving an answering whimper, Stiles shifted his position so that he was facing the door with the open V of his legs. It was shameless, but _so was Stiles_.

 

Scott appeared in the door to their bedroom having lost his shirt, one of Stiles’ clutched in his hand and pressed against his face. Stiles could see the flush that had settled into the hollow of his cheeks, the way his eyes had already glazed over a little, red light starting to flicker into the molten brown as Scott let them trace over Stiles’ body already stretched out waiting for him. He panted into the cloth of the shirt and Stiles wondered with a shiver if Scott’s fangs had dropped.

 

“Heat hit.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, feeling wanton as he just _lay_ there, watching Scott shadow the doorway. He couldn’t smell the Omega scent Scott himself put off. Allison had told him once that it smelled sweet and rich, warm and inviting, but that was Scott to Stiles all the time, so maybe he wasn’t missing much. He was all too aware of Scott’s _wolf_ , however, the Alpha that had also taken root in Scott’s body, and it made him feel magnetized, that word he didn’t want to say trapped behind his teeth even as his skin flushed with the need. “We synced up again.”

 

This time it was Scott’s turn to give a little shudder, discarding the shirt to the side and shutting the door entirely behind them. He kept breathing in through his mouth, shoulders heaving with the motion. “I had to...had to come home early. I need…”

 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Stiles repeated, smearing his messy palm down along one of his own thighs. He could see the way the slick shone wetly in the wake of the gesture, downright glistening on his skin, he could see the way Scott couldn’t quite tear his red eyes off of it. Stiles let his fingers stray lower, again below his erection to tug at his rim, and Scott’s gaze followed the motion like a predator on the scent. “‘F I put the knot toy in you, would--would you fuck me? _Please_?”

 

“ _Yeah.”_

 

Scott almost fell forward onto the bed, immediately twisting his body around so that he could press his nose close to Stiles’ hip. His mouth opened, starting to clean some of the smeared-down slick off of Stiles’ skin, and the task of twisting _himself_ around so that he could go seeking the needed toy became almost too much for his mind to bear. Time stretched around them as the only thing that Stiles could think of was the pad of Scott’s tongue as it drew closer and closer to the center of Stiles’ body.

 

“S-scott. Scott, I need... _you_ need--”

 

The end table was so far away. It was _so far_ away, and Stiles’ hands trembled as he stretched for it, desperate to find the toy he knew Scott would want in moments. Scott groaned while Stiles was stretching, taking time just to press a messy kiss against Stiles’ equally-messy hole. Stiles made  a punched out, wounded sound, almost loud enough to cover up Scott’s murmured, “Get it. Get it _now_ ,” as he leaned back and out of Stiles’ space. For three heartbeats or more, Stiles felt more empty than he’d ever felt.

 

Laying there feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to bring the contact he craved back. Instead, Stiles rolled over onto his stomach, trying not to think about how that dragged his aching cock against the sheets of the bed, and finally managed to get into the end table. The knot toy was already at the top of the drawer, ready for use, and Stiles felt almost grateful for his previous foresight as he pulled it free and turned back to his lover.

 

Scott was stripping himself free of his underwear, other clothes already in a pile on the floor. Stiles was unsurprised to see slick dripping freely down his thighs and Scott’s gorgeous cock rising up against his stomach. There would be a knot there, soon, one that Stiles was almost frantic to feel in the clutch of his own body. He wanted nothing more than to mouth along Scott’s base until the knot started to swell, to coax it in with deep rocking gestures of his own hips--but Stiles knew better. Stiles, as a matter of personal pride, was determined to be just as good for his Scott as Scott was for _him_. He had to take care of Scott first.

 

Taking a long, deep breath, Stiles reached out to press against Scott’s shoulder. He pushed him back against the bed, insistent and unrelenting until Scott was the one sprawled out on the sheets, hips hooked up just a little bit like an offering. Stiles could see the thick slick, sweet like honey, as it slipped out of Scott’s body. He’d have been able to smell it if he’d become an Alpha like he’d thought he would, been able to feel that burn in his lower body to take and claim and _knot_. He could almost feel echoes of it, and Stiles was not about to be deterred from his rightful place between Scott’s legs just because his body hadn’t worked out the way he’d expected it to. He wasn’t going to be ashamed.

 

Not when those beautiful thighs trembled as Stiles settled between them, ignoring the rhythm of his own need to turn his focus on Scott. His hole was already a certain delicious contradiction of swollen and open, enough that Stiles wondered if Scott had spent part of the drive home with a finger inside of himself, helpless to fill that emptiness that Stiles was all too familiar with, was experiencing right _now_. The idea made Stiles shudder, roused some dormant part of him that hadn’t quite accepted he was _just an Omega_ , and without any more hesitation, he reached out to trace the inside rim with the pads of his first and middle fingers.

 

The noise Scott made in response was _glorious_.

 

It was exactly the kind of noise that spurred Stiles onwards. He leaned up, still clutching that stupid toy with his free hand, and spread Scott out with those same fingers. He got in close and licked between them, gathering the slick up on this tongue and trying not to wonder too much about how much better it would have tasted if he’d been a _real_ Alpha. It didn’t matter--it already tasted so good, so sweet and rich. Stiles had spent hours down here before, just chasing that flavor. He would again, one day, probably one day later this _week_ , when they’d worn down the frantic edge with a long march of orgasms. Not tonight. Tonight was the first blush of a mutual heat, and he just didn’t have time - not with this terrible, _feral_ aching for Scott building inside of him.

 

Tonight was Scott already bucking down against his face, hands clutching for Stiles’ hair, gritting out a desperate “ _Please”_ between the bite of his teeth. Under the guise of making sure Scott was _really_ ready, Stiles speared his tongue upwards again, again and _again_ , rewarded with Scott soaking his face from cheekbones to jawline. The flesh beneath his fingers began to quiver, and glancing up Stiles could see that Scott had moved one hand, already, to clutch at the base of his own cock, trying to stave off the swelling of his knot and the orgasm that would quickly follow. If Stiles wanted to get anything out of this, he needed to stop teasing, no matter how tempting it was to do.

 

Lifting his face a little for the space to breathe in, Stiles brought the hand with the toy in it into play. He smeared Scott’s slick all along the silicone with his fingertips. Every dip of his fingers caused Scott to whimper beautifully, and every one of _those_ sounds jolted through Stiles’ body, rippling over him in waves and adding to the absolute mess he was making between his own legs. Once the toy was dripping with slick, Stiles turned his face to press a messy kiss to the place where Scott’s leg met his groin, and watched as he started to fuck the toy into Scott’s dripping cunt.

 

Scott’s spine arced down toward Stiles as he pushed the toy in. He squeezed against Stiles’ body with his knees, a brief pressure that made Stiles pause and look up to Scott’s face, concerned that this was too much and too fast. He needn’t have worried; Scott’s whole face was slack with pleasure, the edges of his mouth trying to curl up around a smile. He was panting, breathing through the bitten-red flush of his lips, trying to touch at Stiles’ hair with the shaking fingers of one hand. “Good, it’s good, please, Stiles, don’t stop.”

 

Stiles couldn’t stop his own smile, eyes returning to the rhythm of that toy.

 

It slid in so easily, Scott’s body _made_ for opening up and letting something in. It only took three long, slow strokes before Stiles could work the toy in flush to its base, rocking it back and forth until he’d pressed the beginning of its knot-swell in past Scott’s pouting rim. The toy would respond to the pressure inside of Scott’s cunt when he finally clutched down on it and inflate the knot by itself. It was a _great_ little toy, Stiles knew from experience, but he also knew from experience it just wasn’t quite the same as having a real, living knot pulsing inside of you. He leaned down to press another kiss to Scott’s taint, checking the fit of the toy with his tongue and lapping up the excess slick that had squeezed out around the edges.

 

“Stiles,” Scott called, voice so rough, strumming something so deep inside of him. “Stiles, you’d better hurry.”

 

How could he ever even try to deny something like that?

 

Peeling himself up from the temptation of watching Scott’s hole flex greedily at the toy, Stiles kissed his way up one leg, across a hip, along Scott’s stomach and chest. It didn’t take him long to get to Scott’s mouth, claiming that space for himself and then letting Scott lick into his mouth and take back the flavor he’d left there. He wasn’t teasing any longer, hyperaware of the need rising up off of Scott’s body. That need called to Stiles’ own, reverberated between the two of them in a feedback loop, as endlessly tied to each other as they had always been. They didn’t even need to communicate about what happened next - Stiles simply straddled Scott and lifted his hips and Scott, eyes flashing red, used the hand he’d wrapped about his cock to guide himself into Stiles’ aching cunt.

 

Every nerve in his body sprang to life as he pressed himself down on Scott’s cock, his whole being singing with how _perfect_ and _right_ it felt. He couldn’t help the groan that slipped free of him, wouldn’t have wanted to even if he could have. He felt so slick and stretched out, throbbing deep in his cunt as Scott sank inside to the hilt. Scott smoothed his hands down Stiles’ sides, whimpering quietly as he tried to get the rhythm they both craved started.

 

“Come on, Stiles, come on, come on…”

 

Stiles braced himself with both hands spread wide on Scott’s chest and rolled his hips, dragging a moan out of both of them. He lifted himself up just to crash down again, like he could crush them together, fuse them into one body like he’d always suspected their souls had been intended to be. Scott’s sounds transformed from whimpers to growls, gripping at Stiles’ hips to help secure him. He hammered himself upwards and Stiles struggled to open his legs wider, to get harder, faster, deeper, _more_ of Scott’s cock inside him.

 

It didn’t take long - they were both already on the edge, desperate for release. Stiles met Scott’s red gaze, and Scott soothed his fingers along the bottom of Stiles’ spine, voice still gravelly.

 

“Are you ready? Stiles?”

 

Stiles could feel Scott’s knot already starting to swell, and he was determined for that to happen _inside_ of him, instead of uselessly out in the cold. He let his body speak for him, hooking his hips and then driving them down against Scott, like he could do all the work himself. Scott, blessed, delicious Scott didn’t let him. Still gripping Stiles by his hips, he gave three or four short thrusts and then, with a jolt that shuddered up the length of Stiles’ spine, the knot slipped inside.

 

It swelled immediately, growing and growing until Stiles thought maybe he’d actually _burst_ from it. It was his turn to whimper, now, and Scott already seemed to know that sound was coming, pulling him down with both arms so that they could press, chest to chest and belly to belly, sharing their heat. So closely tied up to Stiles, now, Scott couldn’t _thrust_ , exactly, but he kept shifting as much as he could, dragging his knot by increments against the sensitive walls of Stiles’ cunt. Stiles could _feel_ it as Scott bore down on the toy, twitching his hips as the knot swelled in _him_. Scott’s open mouth pressed against one sweaty temple, gasping headily, and without any other warning, he _came_ , the heat of him filling and stretching Stiles out.

 

He couldn’t hold out, not against that sudden sense of fulfillment, like he’d just _finally_ become complete. A point of molten heat, like a nascent star deep in the place between his hips, blossomed out until his entire body was caught in waves of pleasure, rippling through his cunt as it clutched at Scott’s knot and through his own cock as it spilled messily between them.

 

It was perfect. Scott was perfect. In that moment, _everything_ was perfect.

 

Making a contented sound, Stiles let himself go lax against Scott’s warm body, trying to tuck his arms up against Scott’s sides. Scott wrapped his own around Stiles, giving his own sigh.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Scott said, utterly heartfelt.

 

“That’s what we just did, yep.” Stiles couldn’t help the way he pressed his face into Scott’s neck, settling in to wait out the tie they’d be caught in for the better part of an hour.

 

Laughing wearily, Scott pinched at Stiles’ hip. It was a chastisement, but it was so mild it barely registered amidst all the pleasure that was thrumming under Stiles’ sweat-streaked skin.

 

“I think you ambushed me. I was ambushed. How was I supposed to hold out with you smelling so... _ripe_?”

 

“What makes you think you were supposed to _hold out_?” Stiles murmured, shifting a little just to remind himself of the stretch his body made around Scott’s knot. “This is exactly what I wanted. This is exactly what _you_ wanted! You came home early for this!”

 

“Is that what you think?” Scott sounded richly amused.

 

Smug and satisfied, Stiles let his eyes hood closed. He’d nap, soon, wake up with Scott still buried deep within him. As exhausting as heat week was, it sure was _good_ in some really fundamental ways.

 

“Yeah. I got the knotter out, didn’t I? I know what my Scotty needs.”

 

The mouth that had been gasping against his temple then turned and pressed a kiss there instead.

 

“You really, _really_ do.”

  
  



End file.
